


There's Uncertainty (and then there's Saren and Nihlus)

by Dusty_Skyes



Series: Hard Reverse [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: AU, Garrus is shameless, I completely blame Kuraiummei, M/M, Reapers beware, Slash, Time Travel, i'd be sorry but that requires shame and i misplaced mine years ago, shameless flirting, this time he's gonna save both Nihlus and Saren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 11:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9489407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Skyes/pseuds/Dusty_Skyes
Summary: Garrus opens his eyes, blinks, and then closes them again, half convinced he's hallucinating. The M-98 Widow and the M-7 Lancer on his bedside table say otherwise. But it's his Viper, sitting perfect and pristine beside it when it had been destroyed so long ago, that cinches the feeling.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/gifts).



> I blame [Kuraiummei](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei) and their work [Either Die A Hero](archiveofourown.org/works/7711198).

Garrus Vakarian wakes up to a migraine of epic proportions and whimpers, a hand coming up to clutch at his aching head. Then he pauses, realizes that he's staring up at the ceiling of his own room in his family's _madlis_ and freezes, half convinced that he's hallucinating the whole thing. “This isn't possible,” he breathes, because the last thing he remembers is being in the _thick of the fighting on another planet entirely_ , not sleeping in his bedroom on Palaven while visiting family. He hasn't been back to his family's _madlis_ in _years_. Not since his _patrem_ died. ' _Good_ _riddance',_ he thinks darkly.

He flicks on the lights onto the lowest setting and glances around his familiar room, his mandibles spasming when he spots his M-98 Widow propped up by his bed. It's still fully modified, with several cartons of ammo sitting beside it. Beside that is his fully modified M-7 Lancer. The one Shepard turned into omni-gel in ten minutes. And sitting next to it, is his Viper. Garrus makes a choking noise.

(Viper had been destroyed several years ago by the Reapers in an attempt to make him weak. Shepard had given him the Widow as a response and the Turian had become even more dangerous, even going as far as making his record shot with the rifle; the target a full six thousand, four hundred, and eighty six meters away.

He held the world record, in fact. For many, many years. He still does, too.)

A quick search with his omni-tool tells him the date, time, year, and that the current sniping record is a rather pitiful three thousand, nine hundred, and forty four meters. He kicks back the covers and gets up, his reflection catching his eye. A single look in the mirror and he blinks at his face, momentarily confused. Then he stops breathing for a second, a hand coming up to touch the right side of his face. The scar, the one that had marred hide from just underneath his eye and fringe all the way down to his mandible, is _gone_ . His flesh is clear gray plates and blue _Familia Notas_ and brown hide once again.

It's six in the morning, far too early for him to even _think_ about being awake, but Garrus doesn't care. He needs to kill something _right_ _now._ He grabs his Widow, ammunition, and heads directly for his family's gun range, determined to _just stop thinking_ for a while.

_'Saren,'_ his mind reminds him. _'Nihlus.'_ He flips it off, storms inside of the range, and promptly sets about re-coding the simulator.

It takes him approximately ten minutes to dissect something that's been around for centuries, understand it, and rewrite it so it's better. Garrus honestly doesn't know if that's good or not and then decides that he doesn't care.

With a huff, he snaps Widow together, settles onto his belly, and begins sniping the targets, quickly losing himself in the familiar movements. When his _filian_ steps into the room almost two hours later, the sun peeking into the shadows through the open door behind her, he doesn't notice.

Breathe in, breathe out, wait half a heartbeat, fire.

**Bing,** the computer says above his head, long since tuned out. **Target destroyed. Changing position.** The end of Widow's barrel shifts as he moves to aim at the next target and Garrus hums under his breath. Breathe in, out, half a heartbeat, fire. **Bing. Target destroyed. Changing position.**

“Garrus,” Solana begins slowly, “how long have you been in here?”

He doesn't answer. Not verbally, at least; he's far too engrossed in tracking the targets. _Awhile_ . _I couldn't sleep._

She frowns, her mandibles pulling closer to her face in the motion. “How long is 'awhile'?”

_Two-ish hours?_ His subvocals jump in a sort of half-shrug. In, out, half-heartbeat, fire.

**Bing. Target destroyed. Changing position.**

“What are you shooting? And where did you get that rifle?” she asks, ignoring the way her _fraten_ 's been up for two _hours_ already. He's been in here since six in the morning.

_Here and there, and I'm sniping targets_ , he responds lazily, shifting Widow as he searches for the next one.

“How far out are they?”

Garrus doesn't answer for a while, then he pulls the trigger again. _Not far enough._ The computer beeps. **Bing. Target destroyed. New record recorded. Changing position.**

“Garrus,” his _patrem_ rumbles warningly as he steps into the room. The silver-gray-plated _torin_ hums noncommittally and shifts Widow so he can get a better view through the scope. His _patrem_ scowls and glances up at the computer keeping track. “Computer, define distance.”

**Distance def—**

“Behind trees is _cheating_ ,” Garrus mutters, then rolls onto his side and pulls the trigger again.

**Bing,** the computer says, cutting off its acceptance of the first command. **Target destroyed. Changing position. Target distance defined at five thousand, eight hundred and thirty six meters out.**

Garrus pauses and blinks up at the ceiling, ignoring the way his _patrem_ and _filian_ are gaping openly at him. “Oh? Did I get that far out already? Huh.” He huffs a breath and begins taking Widow apart. “I should be going. I need to get back to C-Sec.”

As the Turian slips out of the range, ignoring his stunned family with Widow and ammunition in hand, he breathes in deeply and accepts that, yes, this is real.

He's in the past.

29 years old and a C-Sec Detective once again; and this time Garrus has all the skills and weapons he needs. He can _save_ both Nihlus and Saren.

Maybe.

**oOo**

' _The hardest part about being in the past,_ ' Garrus thinks as he glares mutinously at the ground far below him, ' _is equalizing both personalities._ ' Thankfully, he and his younger self are still quite a bit alike, making it a lot easier for them to merge.

There's just one problem. They're both hot-headed _torins_ , and that fucking Salarian on the ground five and a half thousand meters away is pissing him off. It doesn't help that Spectre is there as well.

Or rather, it doesn't help that Nihlus and Saren are there as well. Nihlus is practically vibrating with fury as he glares daggers at the Salarian holding the gun to the human child's head. Saren looks immensely displeased, his mandibles splayed in a fearsome snarl. Garrus is somewhat disappointed that he isn't close enough to hear what the two Turian's subvocals are saying. He's fairly certain that Nihlus' is filled with cursing and foul names.

Beside him, his coworker and friend, Glyn frowns. The human C-Sec Officer looks just as annoyed as he is. “Goddamn kidnapping rings,” he spits, gently nibbling on his bottom lip. “Just outside of our sniping range, too.”

“Maybe for you,” Garrus mutters, reaching for his bag. His Widow is inside, disassembled to avoid catching attention, but there just the same. He yanks it out, snapping the sniper rifle together with the ease of many hours of practice, all the while keeping an eye on the Salarian.

Glyn gives him an incredulous look. “You can't be serious,” he says. “That bastard's easily five and a half thousand meters away.” Garrus doesn't answer, but his subvocals are humming with glee. He glances through the scope, takes note of the way the Salarian is mocking the two Spectre in front of her, breathes in, then out, waits for a lull in his heartbeat, and then pulls the trigger.

Her head explodes outwards in the way only a head-shot can cause, and he quickly begins disassembling the gun, shoving Widow's parts back into his bag and ignoring Glyn's wide-eyed spluttering.

Not even ten minutes later, the two Spectre have all the snipers on duty lined up, with Saren demanding to know who made that shot and from where. Glyn leans over just slightly and drops his voice until Garrus can barely hear it. “Aren't you going to claim that fucking amazing shot?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Garrus hisses back, barely managing to keep his subvocals quiet. “My _patrem_ would _kill_ me for assisting Spectre.” Glyn winces, understanding blooming on his face.

Everyone in C-Sec knows about Garrus' _patrem_ and his dislike for Spectre. _Everyone._

Spectre Kryik huffs a breath, plucks the bullet from the remaining mess that's now the Salarian's head, and carefully cleans it off. “I want to see all sniper rifles now. We're going to match the bullet. It's not Viper ammunition, that much I can tell.”

Glyn glances over at him. “So that's why you used that other gun,” he muses thoughtfully, making sure that his voice is just loud enough for Garrus to hear. “And then disassembled it. Very nice thinking.”

“Thank you,” Garrus returns just as quiet and then stands to attention when Spectre Arterius stalks over to stand in front of him.

“Sniper rifle?” the _torin_ asks frostily, and both his mandibles and Valluvian horns are twitching in agitation. Garrus wonders if running his tongue over them would make them twitch as well.

“A Viper, Spectre Arterius,” he returns lazily, amusement and subtle interest curling within his voice. His _patrem_ 's going to kill him for this, but Garrus is ninety-nine percent sure that he'll die a very happy Turian.

“Are you always this forward to people you've never met?” Arterius snaps.

“I assure you, Spectre, only to the _really_ good looking ones,” Garrus returns smoothly. Beside him, Glyn chokes on his own spit and starts coughing. Saren goes an odd shade of red-purple, his subvocals chittering somewhere between furious and flustered and embarrassed and Nihlus trills in delight.

“Your first flirt!” Nihlus chirps with a grin as he tackle-hugs Saren. “I'm so _proud_!”

“ _Get_ off _of me_ ,” the elder Spectre grinds out, looking ready to murder. Garrus' lips twitch up and he's unable to keep his subvocals from purring in amusement.

“Have you no _shame_ ?” Glyn asks almost desperately when he's _finally_ able to breathe again.

“Glyn.... I stopped having shame when you did that strip-tease dance,” Garrus says flatly.

Glyn first goes white, then red, before finally settling on a misty shade of puce. “You _know_ about _that_?”

“The better question would be: Who doesn't know about that? I have _videos_.”

The human whimpers and covers his face with his hands. “Life. Ruined,” he whispers miserably. “Must. Flee. Planet.”

Garrus smirks and ignores the way Nihlus is cackling with laughter. “If it's any consolation, it was a fantastic dance.” He shrugs lazily, his subvocals broadcasting his own delight.

“That is _not_ helping,” Glyn hisses. “I'm going to _kill_ you, Garrus.”

“I'd suggest you don't. Not unless you want to deal with _patrem_.”

Glyn gives him a glare that's halfway between fond and furious. “I still hate you.” By this point, Saren has spun around and stormed off to interrogate the next sniper, and Nihlus pads over.

“That was _hilarious_ ,” he says with a grin, mandibles splayed out in a full smile. “I don't think I've seen Saren that flustered before.” He falls quiet and hums, his subvocals purring with glee. “So, what other weapons do you have on you?”

“Right now? Just a Lancer.”

“A Lancer?” the Spectre asks curiously. Garrus unhooks it from his belt and causally holds it up, letting the light glint off of its identification number. Nihlus takes one look and stills, brow plates shooting up to the top of his forehead. “YOU HAVE A M-7 LANCER?!” he shrieks. Behind him, Saren freezes mid-word and whirls around, suddenly extremely interested, and then stalks over as quick as he can without looking too excited.

“I was, ah, attacked by pirates on a trip to Palaven a while back. They had several of these and I, ahem, _liberated_ one after kicking their idiotic asses into next year,” Garrus explains with a smirk, one mandible quirking upwards in amusement.

“Language, Officer,” Saren says almost absently, his gaze practically _glued_ to the gun.

“I was still in my full C-Sec uniform,” the silver-gray _torin_ adds, his voice flat and dry as a desert. “They _deserved_ the ass-kicking I gave them.”

“Language,” Saren growls, his mandibles just starting to twitch in annoyance, his eyes narrowed into thin slits. _Don't you_ _**dare**_ _._

Nihlus and Garrus share a look, nearly identical smirks crawling up their faces as they ignore the horrified looks Garrus' fellow snipers are giving them. “Do you always talk about asses like this?” Nihlus asks curiously, almost causally.

Garrus gives a sort of half-shrug. “I guess I'm an ass-man,” he returns lazily and the two of them watch as Saren twitches.

“ _You_ ,” the elder Spectre begins dangerously.

“Well,” Nihlus cuts him off, his subvocals humming with cheerful abandon, “might I add that you have a _fabulous_ ass?” and Garrus laughs when Saren makes a noise alarmingly similar to a boiling teakettle. 

_This might just work out after all._

**Author's Note:**

>  **Lexicon:**  
>  TCD – shorthand for Turian Closed Dialect  
> torin – TCD for an adult male Turian  
> patrem – TCD for father  
> filian – TCD for sister  
> fraten – TCD for brother  
> madlis – TCD for a Clan home where all members are welcome.  
> Familia Notas – Turian marks that denote which Clan one belongs to


End file.
